The Leisure Hour 1880-01-24: Vol 29 Iss 1465

THE LEISURE HOUR.

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BEHOLD IN THESE WHAT LEISURE HOURS DEMAND, .
AMUSEMENT AND TRUE KNOWLEDGE HAND IN HAND.—Covwser.

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THE BEST CONVEYANCE.

NINE-TENTHS OF THE LAW.

CHAPTER VI.—ANOTHER NEW MAN.
He wales a portion with judicious care ;
And “ Let us worship God,” he says, with solemn air.
—Burns.

HE evening before his departure from Thickthorn
, Arthur Neville went to see the Brownlows. They
\ already talked the business over sufficiently, and
now visited them on the old footing as a neigh-
No. 1465,—Janvary 24, 1880.

bour. They made a supper for him, and the evening
passed pleasantly enough. They had been talking of
his future prospects, as if Thickthorn and his inherit-
ance were out of the question. What was he to be?
A lawyer? No. A soldier? He doubted whether
he would have sufficient means for that. A clergy-
man? That must depend upon circumstances. He
could not speak hastily on such a question.

Lizzie sat by in silence. She was very cheerful,

| but it did not become her to take part in a discussion

PRICE ONE PENNY.

NINE-TENTHS OF THE LAW.

of that kind. She was glad to see that Mr. Arthur
did not take his disappointment very much to heart ;
neither did she; but of course it was not her affair.
When the clock struck ten, at a hint from her father
she placed the large family Bible upon the table, and
rang the bell for the servants to come in to prayers.

‘“Find the place, Lizzie,” said her father; and she
did so.

Mr. Brownlow took his seat at the table, and read
the chapter which Lizzie pointed out to him. It was
the fourth chapter of St. Matthew, which contains an
account of the calling of the apostles Peter and
Andrew, and James and John. When it was done,
and they had risen from their knees after the prayer
which followed, Arthur Neville sat down again. He
seemed more than usually thoughtful now, and Lizzie
avoided looking at him, as if conscious of what was
passing in his mind. When he took leave of her, as
he did soon afterwards, he said, while pressing her
hand,—

‘‘ Was that your choice, Lizzie?”

It was the old familiar name by which he had
addressed her as a boy. More lately she had been
‘*Miss Brownlow.”

‘‘ My choice ?”’ she asked, with some confusion.

‘Yes; that chapter.”

‘‘No,” she answered; ‘‘it was the lesson for the
evening in its regular course. I did not select it.”

He looked a little disappointed. 4

‘‘But you might have chosen it?” he said again.

‘‘ Why ?”’ she asked, as if she did not understand
him.

‘‘For the sake of that example and those words,
‘Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.’
We were speaking of the choice of a profession just
now,” he continued ; ‘‘is that the calling you would
choose for me ?”

‘‘ No one can choose for you,” she said. ‘ But I
do not think there can be a higher or happier life for
any one who can feel himself called to it, than that of
a clergyman.”

She felt the colour rise to her forehead as she
spoke, and she knew that he saw it. He pressed
her hand again more warmly than before, and bade
her ‘“ good-night, good-bye,” and left her. ;

The next morning Michael Brownlow, having
ascertained that Arthur had started for Cambridge,
called on Mr. Henry Neville to congratulate him on
his good fortune, and to offer his services in the
management of his property. The late Mr. Thornton
had managed his own affairs with the assistance of a
bailiff and an occasional reference to his lawyer; but
it was not to be supposed that the new squire, as he
must now be called, would wish to be troubled with
the direction of his estate.

“You will want a steward, I presume,” Michael
said to the new landlord. ‘‘ You must have some one
to look after the tenants, to collect the rents, and to
see that you are not imposed upon. I know all about
the estate, and could see to your interests better than
any stranger. I have had a scientific education, and
can judge where improvements may be made, so as
to render the land more productive. Your tenants are
for the most part old-fashioned in their ideas, and
want teaching. I could take one of the farms, and
with a little outlay make a model of it for the benefit
of all the rest. There’s Windy Gorse, where old Mr.
Webb, your uncle’s late steward or bailiff, used to
live; it’s one of the poorest farms on the estate, but I
could make something of it. The worse the land is

in itself the more scope for science. I shall be very
glad to attend to your wishes in any way, and havo
no doubt I could soon increase the income from the
estate considerably.”

Mr. Neville listened to him, but gave him no
decided answer. It was true that he did not wish ty
be troubled with the management of the property.
All he wanted was to receive his rents punctually, to
get as much money as he could, and to go abroad
and spend it. But he had not much fancy for
Michael Brownlow. Old Mr. Brownlow he knew
had been a staunch friend of his late uncle, and of
his brother Arthur. The less he had to do with that
family the better, so he thought. He took time,
however, to consider Michael’s proposal; he was
in treaty with a person of the name of Chamberlain,
recommended to him by his solicitors, and expected
to come to terms with him, but thought it as well to
have two strings to his bow. Michael might be
useful as a stopgap, so he kept him in suspense
until his arrangements with Chamberlain were com-
plete, and then wrote him a short note, declining his
services.

Mr. Chamberlain came from the north; he
was a stranger to the county in which Thickthorn
and Dulborough were situated; he had no friends
there and no “ prejudices.”” He had the reputation of
being a sharp man, who would do his best for his
employer. He had raised the rents all round at his
last place, and always managed to get the money in
promptly. If a tenant failed, he succeeded in find-
ing another, so that there was no loss to any one
except the tenant. All this was very promising—for
the landlord, at all events.

Mr. Chamberlain wanted to better his position,
and although he doubted at first whether he could
enter upon his duties at once, not having yet
resigned his situation in the north, he undertook,
on hearing that Mr. Neville was anxious to return
to the Continent, to ‘‘make arrangements.” It
was settled, therefore, that he should come into
residence immediately. Windy Gorse was the ouly
residence available, and he went to look at it.
He was a married man, and had a wife and
daughter, and he did not think they would be
satisfied with the house, which was neither so large
nor so genteel as they would have desired. But
they must make the best of it for the present,
he said. He should not say much about it to them;
he could not quarrel with his bread-and-butter
for the sake of his wife’s fads and fancies, and Thick-
thorn would, he knew, be worth a great deal more
to him than bread-and-butter. He took a lodging
for himself at once in the village, and sent for
builders and paper-hangers to render Windy Gorse
as genteel and presentable as possible; and when
all was ready for Mrs. Chamberlain’s reception sent
for her to come and join him. He did not go to the
station at Nobottle to meet his wife and daughter,
but sent Joe Dix over with the fly from the Coach and
Horses. He did not even wait their arrival at Windy
Gorse, preferring that they should see it and get
used to it a little before seeing him. He knew that
they would not be very well pleased with their new
abode, notwithstanding his efforts to make it genteel,
and thought it better to avoid a scene.

They arrived in due time.

But Mrs. and Miss Chamberlain have an important
part to play in this history, and it is only consistent
with the respect due to people in their position that

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their introduction to the reader and to the people of
Thickthorn and Dulborough should be made the
subject of a separate chapter.

CHAPTER VII.—AN ARRIVAL.

You have too much respect upon the world.
¥ —Shakespeare.

‘“‘Szven miles! how very inconvenient! I under-
stood it was only four or five. We must have got
out at the wrong station.”

“T don’t know as you could have done any
better, mum; this station is as nigh as any.”

The ‘‘mum” was an elderly lady, who stood
upon the platform of the little station at Nobottle,
looking after the train from which she had just
alighted, as if she would have liked to stop it and
resume her journey; and the person who answered
her was a very obliging porter who was doing his
best to make things agreeable to her, but with in-
different success.

‘‘Do you mean to say,’ Mrs. Chamberlain resumed,
‘that there is no station nearer to Dulborough than
seven miles ?”

“Yes, mum; this is the nighest, I believe. I
don’t rightly know where Dulborough is, but pas-
sengers gets out here for Dulborough, and traps
comes here from Dulborough, and it’s better nor
seven miles I know, by what the drivers say.”’

‘Worse than seven miles you mean,” the lady
answered,

“There’s a fly from Dulborough waiting outside
now, mum, inquiring for two ladies. It’s all right,
mum.”

“All right, does he say? ‘Well, I hope it will
prove so; but if this is to be our best and nearest
station it is a poor prospect, Eva.”

Eva, Mrs. Chamberlain’s daughter, was a girl of
nineteen or twenty—we beg her mother’s pardon—a
young lady. Eva herself would, perhaps, have for-
given the shorter word, but Mrs. Chamberlain was
more particular. Eva tried to take a cheerful view of
the situation.

“We shall not want to travel very often, mamma
dear,” she said; ‘and if Dulborough is a nice place
it won’t signify much not being able to get away
from it.’

“T have my suspicions about Dulborough, as you
know,” her mother answered. ‘I did hope there
might be a station within reasonable distance, so
that one might go to a respectable town for shopping,
oreven up to London. But we shall see what the
place is like soon, I suppose.”

The fly, with old Joe Dix upon the box, and an
old slow and steady horse between the shafts, was
soon reached, and Mrs. Chamberlain and her daughter
entered it, while their maid, a smart-looking young
woman named Spilby, took her place upon the box
by the side of the driver.

Mrs. Chamberlain had had sufficient experience
already of quiet country places. Salt-in-the-Marsh,
where she had resided for the last four years, was
decidedly quiet. She had always been urging her
husband to find a more appropriate home; not for her
own sake, she would say, though she was not partial
herself to being buried alive, but for the sake of
Eva, who was growing up, and ought to have good
introductions. The change had come; it had brought
& considerable addition to her husband's income;

NINE-TENTHS

| she wished in the shape of society.

OF THE LAW. 51

Mr. Chamber-
lain had evaded her questions on this point. She
wanted a select circle of ‘ good families” to visit
and entertain; she aimed at raising her position in
the social scale; she had engaged a maid who could
make fashionable dresses and ‘“‘do ”’ hair; but there
was a gnawing anxiety at her heart as to what Dul-
borough and its neighbourhood would be like.

The appearance of the old-fashioned fly from the
Coach and Horses did not tend to reassure her; and
poor old Joe Dix, though he had put on his great-
coat as a genteel sort of coverslut to hide his corduroy
trousers, was not much smarter than his vehicle. .

“Is this the best conveyance you have at Dul-
borough?” she asked, disdainfully, before she
entered it.

“It’s the only un,” said Joe; ‘‘there’s ne’er
another in the place. You'd best get in and let I

start ; it will take us better nor an hour and a half
to get home, and it’s late already.”

‘‘An hour and a half for seven miles!’ she
exclaimed, in dismay.

“We calls it eight,” said Joe; ‘and it’s up and
down hill all the way.”

Mrs. Chamberlain sighed, but there was no help
for it; so she entered the vehicle and they drove off.
The sun was getting low when they approached
their destination. The last hill was the longest and
steepest of all, and Joe Dix got down and walked
beside his horse. He looked at Mrs. Chamberlain as
if he thought she ought to do the same, but did not
venture to propose it. They stopped two or three
times, and Joe lost no epportunity of remarking that
it was a heavy pull; but his passenger did not take
the hint. At length they arrived at the summit, and
there the horse stopped again of his own accord, as if
to view the prospect. The white froth dropped from
his mouth upon the dusty road as he stood there
panting, and his heaving sides shook the carriage in
a way which, Mrs. Chamberlain declared, was most

unpleasant. ‘You ought not to bring such a
horse as that,” she said; ‘‘he is not fit for the
work.”

“It’s a big load,” said Joe, looking at Mrs.
Chamberlain, who was large and portly; ‘it’s a
heavy pull up that there hill; there arn’t a better
horse in Dulborough, tho’f he be a little aged.
Give him time and use him fair, especially up a
steep hill like this, and he’ll do a day’s work as well
ase’er another. That there’s Dulborough straight
afore you,” he added, pointing with his whip into
the valley. ‘ That there’s Dulborough itself.”

‘‘That’s Dulborough, ma’am,”’ the maid repeated,
pointing in the direction of the driver’s whip.

‘‘ Where?’ Mrs. Chamberlain replied. ‘I can’t
see anything.”

‘“No more can I, ma’am,” said Spilby.

“Tt be down there all the same,” said Joe; “every
bit on it.”

“Do you mean those two or three thatched
houses?”

‘‘Yes. They be in Dulborough, they be.”’

‘“‘Tt’s a poor little place, indeed, then!” Mrs.
Chamberlain exclaimed; ‘‘ but I can hardly believe
it. There must be some mistake.”

‘““A poor little place, indeed, ma’am,” echoed
Spilby, with the look of one who had been imposed
upon, ‘if that is where we are to reside.”

‘‘Tt’s only a village, of course,’’ Eva said.

ut it was doubtful whether it would give her what

“Papa
told us it was a village.”

D2

52 NINE-TENTHS

‘“‘ But I don’t see any houses.”

‘¢ There be a goodish few houses for all that,”’ Joe
answered, ‘“‘ when you gets to’em. They lays down
in the holler, beyond the turn of the road. You'll
have to look round the corner to see’em. There’s
the chu’ch.”

‘“‘T see a weather-cock ; nothing else.”

‘¢Tt’s all there,” said Joe; ‘‘ the whole on it.”

‘‘ But where do all the best people reside ?”

“The best people? ‘Well, I shouldn’t like to give
an opinion about that. The vicar, he lives in the
Vicarage; the farmers they lives on their farms; the
doctor—”

‘*T don’t mean the farmers and the doctor.”

‘* Well, the shopkeepers lives at their shops ; there
ain’t many on ’em; and the labourers—”

‘‘T don’t care where they live. I don’t call them
good people.”

‘‘They’re as good as some others,” said Joe.
‘Come up!”

The latter part of his speech was addressed to
the horse, and accompanied by a jerk of the reins,
which might have been intended for Mrs. Chamber-
‘ain. It told upon her, at all events, for the horse

“ coming up” suddenly, as he was bidden, that lady,
rho had been standing erect in the carriage, looking
with disdainful eyes at the weathercock, was thrown
suddenly backwards, and fell upon the hard cushion
with an exclamation and a bump.

‘‘What boors these people are!” she exclaimed,
as soon as she could speak. ‘A specimen of Dul-
borough society, I suppose!”’

‘‘ Yes, ma’am,” said Spilby, ‘it’s what one may
expect in such localities, no doubt.”

The fly was going down hill now at a much quicker

pace than usual. The road was narrow, and the off
wheel struck against a stone which seemed to have
been fixed there in order to make it narrower; the
tire, which had been “rattling along” all the way
from Nobottle (as if to make up for the slowness of
the fly), came off and rolled down the steep descent on
its own account, like a schoolboy’s hoop, much faster
than it had ever travelled while there was a horse to
draw it.

The horse, on the contrary, immediately stood still,
and Mrs. Chamberlain’s balance was again in danger.
‘*What is the matter now?” she exclaimed, in an
angry tone.

They were none of them in a very amiable mood
by this time, except the horse; he apparently was
quite contented.

Joe was examining the wheel, and did not reply.
Miss Spilby sprang to the ground with great agility,
and, after assuring herself that she was safe, opened
the door for her mistress.

** Will you get out, ma’am?” she said.

*‘T will descend,’”? Mrs. Chamberlain replied.

She would have ‘suited the action to the word”
more distinctly if she had not been in such a hurry.
Alarmed as she was, it was more like a “ getting
out,” after all.

‘* What is to be done now ?”’ she asked.

‘You can walk on if you like,” said Joe; “I
shall have to stop here till the blacksmith comes.”

‘* Walk!” cried the lady.

‘* Walk!” Miss Spilby echoed.

‘Yes, ma’am,” said Joe, decidedly; ‘‘I can help
the luggage on afterwards if you leave it here.”

“Tf what?” said Mrs. Chamberlain, looking at a
large dress-basket which was strapped on at the back

OF THE LAW.

of the fiy ; ‘‘ does the man suppose I could carry that
upon my back ?”

‘‘Tt arn’t above two mile,’’ said Joe, who had been
too much occupied with his wheel to hear what she
said. ‘‘You goes through the village, and up the
= takes the first turning on the left up «
ane. ;

‘‘ Oh, dear dear! what 7s to be done!’ cried the
lady, without waiting to hear more.

The idea of making her first appearance in Dul-
borough on foot, walking through the village in her
travelling costume, with her daughter and her maid,
none of them fit to be seen, carrying shawls and knick-
knacks, to say nothing of the dress-basket, and look-
ing for a lane to the left, was more than she could

ear.

‘“‘This is too much!” she said, in a faint voice.
‘“‘Too much; too much!”

‘Yes, ma’am,” said Spilby, coldly.

‘‘T never, never—knew such a thing.”

‘No, ma’am,” said Spilby; ‘‘no more did I;
never.”

“‘Tt is too much; too much!”

‘*Yes, ma’am,”’ said Spilby.

‘‘T can hardly realise it.”

‘* No, ma’am,”’ said Spilby.

‘It is a specimen of what one may expect, I pre-
sume, in a place like this.”

‘Yes, ma’am,”’ said Spilby.

‘“‘ But I could not have thought it!”

‘No, ma’am,”’ said Spilby.

‘“‘T can’t go no furder,” said Joe; ‘‘so you'll have
to foot it, ma’am, whether or no. And if you'll
be good enough just to step in at Dick Dobbs’s as
you pass—that’s the blacksmith’s shop—and give
him a description of what has happened as nigh as
you can, and tell him to come on here at once, I
shall be much obliged to you. Tell him to come on
at once,” he repeated. ‘‘See Dobbs himself; and
you might as well look in at the Coach and Horses
and tell our master. Never mind the luggage, I'll
help that on afterwards. I never seed a fly broken
on the wheel so bad as this afore. It’s the weight as
has done it; it’s a heavy pull, uphill and down.”

Mrs. Chamberlain thought she might almost as
well have been broken on the wheel herself, as be
exposed to the indignities which now beset her.
There is no knowing what she might have said or
done, but just then a carriage and pair approached
with two servants upon the box. She gathered
her garments about her, and stood by the roadside
to let it pass. These were some of the “ good
people,” she said to herself. It was very awk-
ward to meet them for the first time under such
circumstances, but they would not know who she
was; that was a comforting thought now, though
it would have been quite the contrary at another
time.

There was only one person in the carriage, and he
a gentleman. He looked back after he had passed,
and then stopping the horses, alighted.

‘‘ What's the matter?” he said, addressing Joe.

Joe pointed to the wheel, the spokes of which
were loose for want of its tire.

‘* Ah, I see. It’s an old concern, that fly.
could not expect it to last for ever.” ;

‘‘ Tt’s the weight as done it,” Joe murmured, with
a glance at Mrs. Chamberlain, ‘up hill and down.”

The new-comer turned to Mrs. Chamberlain and
raised his hat.

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NINE-TENTHS

“‘’m sorry io see you in this plight,” he said.
«‘Am I addressing Mrs. Chamberlain ?”’

‘Yes, sir,” the lady answered, with surprise and
a smile.

“T am Mr. Neville.
carriage.”

“¢ Dear me,” said the lady, flicking the dust from
her dress. ‘‘I am quite ashamed to be seen in such
a state.”

‘Get in,” said thesquire. The footman, who had
heard what passed, had the capriage door open.
“Get in; I'll walk on.”

Mrs. Chamberlain ‘‘ entered’ the carriage. Eva
followed her, and Spilby prepared to do the same.
Mrs. Chamberlain hardly ale whether it would be
‘the thing ”’ to let her maid ride with her, or whether
the squire would like it. She would have told her
to ascend to the box, but in that case she must
have had the footman inside. She was at a loss
what to do, but the squire made a sign to Spilby to
enter, and the difficulty was solved. He then gave
directions to his servant, and while Mrs. Chamberlain
was pouring forth her graceful apologies and acknow-
ledgments, walked off.

They soon reached the village, and passed through
it, a to call at Dobbs’s, though they could
scarcely have failed to notice the forge where three

You had better take my

or four men and boys were lounging about, or to hear
the ring of the hammers upon the anvil. Neither did
they draw rein at the Coach and Horses, though the
sign hung across their path like a railway signal,
charging them to stop. The coachman knew where
he was going to, and the loungers touched their hats
as they drove past, but whether to the carriage or its

occupants was not apparent.

“Tt is a small place,” Mrs. Chamberlain remarked;
“but of course the best people reside in the suburbs.
Our house is not in the village; about a mile beyond
it, I think that flyman said.”

‘Yes, ma’am,’’ Miss Spilby answered.

She, like her mistress, was in better spirits and in
a better temper than before. The carriage was a
particularly easy one, and rested on its springs
luxuriously. The horses were full of corn; the driver
was clever and wore a black coat with black
epaulette. All were new since the old squire’s
death. The whole thing was like a ray of sunshine
m the midst of the gloom which had overshadowed
them, and they brightened up under it.

“It was very kind of Mr. Neville to give us his
carriage,” said Eva.

“‘Yes; but no more than anybody might expect
from every gentleman,” said her mother — her
“‘mamma’’—we must be more particular. ‘‘It is a
very nice carriage, too. I wish he had sent it for us
to Nobottle.”

Presently the nice carriage turned up a lane to
the left and began to ascend a hill.

“We shall not be expected to get out and walk
now, though the ascent is steep,” said Mrs. Chamber-
lain, complacently.

‘No, ma’am,” said Spilby.

Soon afterwards the nice carriage stopped, and the
footman got down and opened a five-barred gate.
The carriage passed through, drove along by the
side of a farmyard, with a manure heap in the
middle, skirted a horse-pond or duck-puddle, and
then stopped at a little garden gate, from which a
gravel walk led up to a house with a door in the
aniddle and a window on each side of it and three

OF THE LAW. 53

windows above. It had beem newly done up, and
looked as smart as colour-wash and paint could make
it. It was roofed with tiles, and there was a lean-to
at the side neatly covered with thatch.

PHOTOGRAPHY POPULARLY EXPLAINED.

‘i later months of the year 1851, just before
the closing of the world’s fair, saw ushered into
the world, quietly and without flourish of trumpets,
a child of the parents Science and Art, which,
though not the first of the family, has since attained
such giant proportions as to fairly outstrip and,
indeed, all but swallow up its predecessors. We call
it now photography.

Years before we were acquainted with the other
members of the family, the Daguerreotype, the
Talbotype, Calotype, and other branches of sun print-
ing. But, with the exception of the Daguerreotype,
none of these became very popular.

Who ever sees a Daguerreotype now, except, per-
haps, of our parents when young, or other family
relic? It is very doubtful now if we could induce
any professional photographer to produce such a
picture, or, perhaps, find in England a dozen who
could tell you how to produce a Daguerreotype, so
entirely has photography of the present superseded
and eclipsed that of thirty years ago.

The Talbotype or Calotype never attained great
popularity. Few portraitists practised it, for they
felt at the time that the image was a very fugitive one.
Not so with Daguerre’s beautiful invention. The
silver images of his coinage, when issued by such
men as Mayall, Claudet, Beard, and a few othors,
were, indeed, charming transcripts of nature. . In
fact, for softness, delicacy, and wonderful modelling,
they have never been excelled.

Before the epoch of sun portraiture, our forefathers
were quite satisfied with the ‘“‘Miss La Creevy”
miniature—a pale, washy thing on ivory, that gene-
rally bore about as much resemblance to your neigh-
bour as yourself, if he happened to have the same
coloured hair, the eyes, nose, and mouth being almost
always done to one pattern.

, I remember, years ago, being told by an old
miniature painter of this class how he proceeded in
the ‘‘ manufacture ’’—for such it was—of these minia-
tures. His studio was in Cork, from which city a
great number of military officers sailed for foreign
service, each, before embarking, being desirous of
leaving behind for his family a portrait. My friend
being the only artist there, the result was that in a
few days he would have some two or three dozen
portraits to paint; and, as he naturally desired to
make his hay whilst his sun was shining, always had
‘in stock ’’ a number of bodies in uniform, from an
ensign to a general. These were all practically
finished ; a little local colouring for either black or
brown, flaxen or red hair, and the colour of the eyes,
being all that he considered necessary to make a
portrait, the little alteration necessary in the facings
of the uniform always having more consideration than
the “facing ” of the sitter.

Photography has educated the mass now. This
sort of manufacture is no longer tolerated. A speaking
likeness is now required, and though we have not been

able yet to produce pictures in the camera in colour,

54

we have entirely driven out of existence the villainous
black “‘ scissorgraph ” with eye (for they only afforded
you one) of gold and hair and whisker ditto. The art
of photography has changed all this; we can now
obtain for the cost of one “‘ black card”’ profile (and
how few of us can stand such a one-sided affair!) a
dozen copies of our form divine, in our favourite pose,
in our (for a few weeks) most fashionable dress, our
pet expression, whether it be tragic, poetic, or the
‘*stewed prunes” or “prism” simper we most
affect. The faithful camera is most indifferent, and
takes in all presented to its one gorgon eye. For these
and all present photographic benefits we have to
thank one Scott Archer, who for years struggled and
fought bravely to bring forth before the world this
offspring of his brain. Few know or perhaps care
how severe his trials, how. great his sacrifices, and
how little his pecuniary reward. He died leaving
his family in very straitened circumstances. An
attempt was certainly made after his death to raise
a fund for those he loved, but the response was a
sorry one; those who had made fortunes by his
discovery gave but little, those who were making
them less, and those who were “ doing well’’ perhaps
‘‘never heard of him,” and so got out of it. Such is
too often the fate of the modest inventor, and bene-
factor of his kind.

It may be thought that Scott Archer threw the
problem amongst chemists and men of science in an
embryo state, and that it has since been perfected by
them, but it is not so. The formula he gave us is
still the one in use for photographic portraiture; the
advance we see in the art is the result of improvements
in the optical and chemical department, and the
artistic training of his disciples and the practice of it
by some of our best artists, men who at first stood
aloof and would not recognise the newborn. Now
some of our greatest painters will take a hint and
much more from the camera.

To the portrait-painter it gives an excellent map
of the face; to the busy man it saves the time and
trouble of sitting for the drapery, hands, ete.; and it
enables the artist to proceed with more than two-thirds
of the picture in the absence of his sitter.

Some may say, what is photography? As this
paper is not intended for the practical photographer,
who is supposed to know all about it, but for those
who want some intelligent knowledge of the subject,
I will leave out all technical terms, and endeavour to
give a simple description of the process at present
in use.

There are few who have not passed through the
ordeal of being “ cartéd,”’ or who have not seen an
enlarged image from the so-called magic lantern.
Well, reverse the latter process and you have ‘“ how
to take them.’’ In the photographer’s glass-house
you take the position of the enlarged image on the
lantern screen, and in the lantern you have the little
picture that is produced in the camera from your
sitting in front of it.

‘* But how is it done?” says one. ‘I’ve seen this
lots of times on the ground-glass screen of the
camera, but when the sitter gets up it is not there.”

‘‘Is it not? Well, we will see.”

The modus operandi is as follows, and, divested of all
the minutiee necessary for the practical working,
appears very simple. But an immense amount of
practice and intimate knowledge of the materials
used is necessary before proficiency is attained, or
anything like perfect results produced.

PHOTOGRAPHY POPULARLY EXPLAINED.

A piece of chemically clean glass is covered with
diluted albumen, dried, and coated with a solution of
gun-cotton in ether and alcohol, with the addition of
some iodides or bromides, such as potassium or cad-
mium, allowed to set, and then plunged into a bath
of nitrate of silver (lunar caustic). A few minutes’
immersion in this solution changes the hitherto
colourless film into one of a pale primrose colour,
extremely sensitive to light. Hence the necessity for
this preparation of the film on the glass being
carried on in the dark chamber, so called; a room
only lighted through orange or ruby-coloured glass.
Upon removal from this solution the plate is
ready for exposure, and is carried from the dark
room in a light proof slide to the camera.

The image of the sitter having being accurately
focussed on the ground-glass screen and exposed to
the rays of light passing only through the lens, is
returned to the dark room to undergo the process of
development, for up to this stage the image is latent;
not the faintest trace of it is seen on the plate after
exposure and previous to development.

The plate is now flooded with what is called a de-
veloper, composed chiefly of sulphate of iron, acetic
acid, and alcohol. Gradually the image appears,
gaining strength and depth each second. When the
requisite intensity is obtained, further development is
arrested by washing with water. It is carefully
examined in this stage, and perhaps redeveloped with
pyro-gallic acid and silver, again washed, and the
superfluous sensitive iodide of silver removed by a
bath of either hyposulphate of soda or cyanide of
potassium ; the latter one of our most deadly poisons.
The action of this salt is to dissolve out all the
yellow iodide of silver not acted upon by light,
leaving an image of metallic silver upon the plate,
deposited by the iron, which is called the ‘‘ negative.”

From this an unlimited number of copies can be
printed on paper, as there is practically no wear and
tear on producing these prints.

The negative undergoes the varnishing process,
and what is called ‘‘ retouching,” that is, modifying
the wrinkles, removing freckles and ‘‘ crow’s feet,”
or other imperfections. By this process a wonderful
improvement is effected when in the hands of a skilled
artist, but in many cases the face is made to assume
a smooth and textureless appearance.

The negative is to the photographer exactly what
the engraved copper-plate is to the printer, the only
difference being that the last impression from the
negative is as good as the first. There are no ‘“ proofs
before letters” and “prints” in photography; they
are all either artist’s proofs, or—otherwise.

To produce the prints on paper a specially made
paper is necessary, from fine and clean linen alone.
This it was all but impossible to procure some years
ago, but such has been the demand for pure paper
that special works and machinery have been devised
and constructed, chiefly in France and Germany.
This paper is coated with albumen, and for this pur-
pose alone the whites of many millions of eggs are
used annually.

After the paper is coated with albumen it is floated
on a solution of nitrate of silver, and dried in the
dark. This is now sensitive to the light, but, unlike
the negative plate, blackens upon exposure to light.
This is placed in contact with the negative image
and exposed to daylight, upon which the paper
assumes a deep chocolate colour. It is removed and
plunged into a slightly saline bath, washed, immersed

PHOTOGRAPHY POPULARLY EXPLAINED.

in one of chloride of gold’and acetate of soda, again

55

accessories ;that few amateurs have ventured to tackle

washed, and afterwards fixed’in hyposulphate of the art as a hobby. To produce pictures of any size in

soda; and it should then receive very careful and
thorough washing, to ensure a qomplete removal of
the superfluous chemicals, for unless this be done
there is sure to be rapid fading: There are many
methods in use for neutralising or entirely removing
these, each photographic printer having his pet process.

There are many little operations omitted here that
are not necessary to the producing of a photograph,
but are required to finish it for the sitter, the mount-
ing, trimming, rolling, burnishing, waxing, enamel-
ling, ete., according to the taste and skill of the
operator or requirements of the customer. All this
entails the necessity of having such a number of

| the field, something more than a tent is required—in
' fact, a moderate-sized omnibus, as a dark room, has
| hitherto been a necessity if really good work was
desired. In the future all this will be changed; we
are on the eve of a revolution in matters photogra-
phic. What has hitherto been known as the ‘dry
process” will shortly step in and depose our old and
faithful ‘‘wet” one. Pictures are now taken in a
fractional part of a second by the new gelatine dry
plates quite equal to any of those taken by the wet
collodion, and ere long Scott Archer’s collodion pro-
cess will be a thing of the past.

T. G. WHAITE.

THE TROUBLES OF A CHINAMAN.

BY JULES VERNE.

CHAPTER I.—THE FIRST WATCH OF THE NIGHT.

newesoppeay Png. AT

5 iakaemseotas
as

ON THE PEARL RIVER.

“"T“HERE’S some

good in life after

all!”” exclaimed one of a

arty of six, as he rested

his elbow upon the arm of a marble-backed seat, and
nibbled a fragment of lotus root.

“Yes, and evil too,” replied another, recovering
from a fit of coughing brought on by the pungency of a
piece of shark’s fin.

‘Then be philosophers,” said a man of more ad-

vanced years, who wore a
pair of huge spectacles with
wooden rims; ‘‘ be philoso-
phers, and take life as it
comes; to-day you run the
risk of being choked, to-
morrow discomfort departs
as easily as this wine. Such
is life!” *

And he swallowed a glass
of lukewarm wine, drawn
from a vessel whence the
steam arose in a cloud that
was scarcely perceptible:

‘‘ For my part,”’ observed
a fourth, ‘‘I find existence
very comfortable as long as
there is plenty to live on and
nothing to do.”

‘*On the contrary,”’ a fifth
remarked; ‘‘ true happiness
consists in labour and study;
to get happiness you must
get knowledge.”

“‘ And find out at last that
you know nothing.”

‘‘Well, and isn’t that the
beginning of wisdom ?”’

‘‘And what, then, is the
end of it?”

‘‘ Wisdom has no end,”
said the gentleman in the
spectacles ; ‘‘ but there will
be no want of content-
ment if only you possess

. common sense.”
| * And our host, what has he to say upon the sub-
ject? Does he hold life to be a condition of good, or
a condition of evil?” said the first speaker, addressing
the entertainer of the party, who occupied, as of
| right, the seat at the head of the table.

'

i

i
t)

* The author “not only gives accurate sketches of life and manners in
the Celestial Empire, but presents the salient points of the mingled
Confucian and sceptical philosophy too prevalent among those who have
thrown off ancient superstition. The more we know of China the more
evident is the need for the same Divine truth which in the first Christian
centuries transformed the pagan world —ED. L, H,

56 THE TROUBLES OF A CHINAMAN.

The host had been sitting silent and abstracted,
carelessly biting some melon-pips, and taking no
part in the discussion. Appealed to thus directly, he
merely pouted and uttered a contemptuous “‘ Pooh!”

Common to all languages, ‘‘ pooh” is a little
monosyllable that may convey a large amount of
meaning. It was now the signal for a general out-
burst of argument between the five guests; each
more decidedly advanced his own theory, whilst all
were unanimous in wishing to elicit their host’s
opinion on the matter.

For some time he declined to make any further
reply ; but at length admitted that as far as he was
concerned he found life neither particularly pleasant
nor particularly unpleasant ; that he looked upon it as
rather an insignificant institution, and that he hardly
thought any very intense enjoyment was to be got out
of it.

A perfect volley of surprise broke from the whole
audience.

‘Only hear him!” cried one.

‘‘ Listen to him, a man that had never a rose-leaf
to disturb his ease !”’ cried another.

‘¢ And so young too!”’

“Yes, young and healthy!”

“‘ And rich to boot! ”

** Ay, rich enough!”

‘‘ Perhaps a little too rich!”

Animated as this cross-fire was, it failed to call up
the faintest semblance of a smile uppn the impassive
countenance of the host ; he only shrugged his shoul-
ders with the air of aman who had scarcely glanced at
the book of his experience, and who certainly was in
no hurry to turn over its pages.

He was thirty-one years of age, in the possession
of perfect health and an ample fortune: his mind had
suffered from no lack of culture, and in general in-
telligence he was rather above the average. There
seemed no reason why he should not be the happiest
of mortals.

Presently the grave voice of the philosopher, like
the voice of the leader of an ancient chorus, was
heard above the tumult,—

‘‘ Young man, if you are not perfectly happy, it is
because your happiness has always been of a nega-
tive character. In order to appreciate health and
good fortune aright, it is necessary at some time or
other to have been deprived ofthem. Now, you have
never been ill; you have never known what misfor-
tune is; I repeat, therefore, that you are not capable
of enjoying the many blessings of which you are in
possession.”

He filled a glass, and holding it up, con-
~tinued,—

‘* My friends, let me propose a toast :—‘ May some
misfortune light upon our host—some little shadow
settle on the brightness of his life!’ ”

The glasses of the company were drained. The
host calmly made the least possible sign of acknow-
dJedgment, and relapsed into his normal apathy.

And where, it may now be asked, did this conversa-
tion take place? Was it in Paris, London, Vienna,
or St. Petersburg? Was it ina restaurant of the Old
World or the New that this little company were
gathered, eating and drinking, genial yet without ex-
cess? One thing was altogether certain : it was nota
= of Frenchmen, for not a word of politics had

een spoken.

The -—~ was moderate in size, but richly
decorated. The rays of the setting sun glinted

through panes of blue and orange glass; beyond the
bay windows wreaths of flowers, real and artificial,
waved in the evening breeze, while variegated
lanterns mingled their pale light with the departing
beams of day. The tops of the windows were orna-
mented with carved arabesques and varied sculpture
representing the fauna and flora of a fantastic world;
hangings of silk and wide double-bevelled mirrors
adorned the walls, and suspended from the ceiling a
punkah with wings of painted muslin kept the air in
motion and relieved the oppressiveness of the tem-
perature.

The table was oblong in shape, and made of black
lacquer; its surface, uncovered by a tablecloth,
reflected each separate article of porcelain or of silver
as perfectly as if it had been a sheet of crystal.

As a substitute for table-napkins, every one was
supplied with a considerable number of squares of
paper figured over in various devices. The chairs
arranged round the table were made with marble
backs, not so luxurious, perhaps, but more suitable
to the climate than the padded lounges in general uso
elsewhere.

Comely girls did the waiting; they wore lilies ang

chrysanthemums in their raven locks, and had

bracelets of gold and jade coquetishly twisted on
their arms. Sprightly and full of smiles, they dexter-
ously took the dishes on and off with one hand,
leaving the other hand free to wave a graceful fan,
in order to maintain the current of air that had been
set in motion by the punkah above.

Nothing could be more perfect, or served in better
style, than the entire banquet. The Bignon of the
district, as if aware that he was catering for connois-
seurs, seemed to have been anxious to surpass himself
in the preparation of the many dishes that crowded
the menu.

For the first course were handed sugared cakes,
caviare, fried grasshoppers, dried fruits, and Ning-
Po oysters. Then followed successively, at short
intervals, ducks’, pigeons’, and peewits’ eggs poached,
swallows’ nests with mashed eggs, fricassees of
ginseng, stewed sturgeons’ gills, whales’ sinews with
sweet sauce, fresh-water tadpoles, fried crabs’ spawn,
sparrows’ gizzards, sheeps’ eyes stuffed with garlic,
radishes in milk flavoured with apricot-kernels,
matelotes of holithurias, bamboo sprouts in syrup,
and sweet salads. The last course consisted of pine-
apples from Singapore, earth-nuts, salted almonds,
savoury mangoes, the white fleshy fruits of the
‘“‘long-yen,” the pulpy fruits of the “lit-chee,”
chestnuts, and preserved oranges from Canton.
After the dessert rice was served, which the guests
raised to their mouths with little chop-sticks, accord-
ing to the custom, of their country.

Three hours were spent over the banquet. When
it was ended, and at the time when, according to
European usage, salvers of rose-water are frequently
handed round, the waiting-maids brought napkins
steeped in warm water, which all the company rubbed
over their faces apparently with great satisfaction.

The next stage of the entertainment was an hour’s
lounge, to be occupied in listening to music. A group
of players and singers entered, all pretty young girls,
neatly and modestly attired. Their performance,
however, could scarcely have been more inhar-
monious ; it was hardly better than a series of yells,
howls, and screeches, without rhythm and without
time. The instruments were a worthy accompani-
ment to the chorus; wretched violins, of which the

string
covert
harm<

iano
P Th

man °
hande
retur!
made
flowe!
larity
by ot!
of th
the
hand
were
appla
lowed
gain
from<

was |
rose f
and
chang
moni
Asse
ble
laid s
each
a por
harat
brat
monk
his le
The
ready
wate!
mem
was
pincl
he pr
with
at on
infus
tea ;

Gibb
there
its he
terat
ous 1
bein;
turm
blue
its |
been
only
was

leaf-
with
ever

flavo
the |
They
attir
cooa
butt

slipy

| the
cial,
ated
ting
rna-
ture
orld ;
rrors
ng a
ir in
tem-

lack
loth,
ilver

was
es of
hairs
arble
table
1 use

3 ang

had
d on
xter-
Land,

fan,
been

etter
f the
NOis-
mself
wded

akes,
Ning-
short
ched,
28 of
with
awn,
arlic,
rnels,
yrup,
ine-
im.
f 6the
hee,”
wnton.
ruests
scord-

When
ng to
iently
pkins
ibbed
on.

10ur’s
group
girls,
ance,
inhar-
yells,
ithout
1pani-

h the

THE TROUBLES OF A CHINAMAN. 57

strings kept entangling the bows; harsh guitars
covered with snake skins; shrill clarionets, and
harmoniums all out of tune, like diminutive portable

ianos. |

The girls had been conducted into the room by a |
man who acted as leader of the Charivari. Having
handed a programme to the host, and received in |
return a permission to perform what he chose, he |
made his orchestra strike up ‘The bouquet of ten
flowers,” a piece at that time enjoying a vast popu-
larity in the fashionable world. This was followed |
by other pieces of similar character, and at the close |
of the performances
the troop, already | 7 r
handsomely paid, an hh | ii
were enthusiastically [iii | Ms
applauded, and al- uA
lowed to depart and a
gain fresh laurels
from other audiences.

After the concert
was over, the party
rose from their seats, |
and having inter-
changed a few cere-
monious sentences,
passed to another
table. Here were
laid six covered cups,
each embossed with
a portrait of Bodhid-
harama, the cele-
brated Buddhist
monk, standing on
his legendary wheel.
The cups were al-
ready full of boiling
water, and each
member of the party
was provided with a
pinch of tea, which
he put into the cup,
without sugar, and
at once drank off the
infusion. And what
tea it was! Direct
from the stores of
Gibb, Gibb, and Co.,
there was no fear of
its having been adul-
terated by extrane-
ous matter, nor of its
being coloured by
turmeric or Prussian
blue ; no suspicion of
its having already
been subject to a process of decoction that left it
only fit to lay upon the carpet of a dusty room; it
was the Imperial tea, in all its purity, the young
leaf-buds allowed to be gathered only by children
with gloves on their hands, and that but rarely, as
every gathering kills a tree.

Europeans would have exclaimed in wonder at its
flavour, but these connoisseurs sipped it slowly, with
the air of men who duly appreciated its quality.
They were all men of the upper class, handsomely
attired in ‘‘hunchaols,” a kind of thin shirt, ‘‘ ma-
cooals,” or short tunics, and ‘haols,’’ long coats
buttoned at the side. On their feet were yellow
slippers and open-work socks, met by silk breeches

"

| ise

THE BANQUET,

that were fastened round the waist by tasselled
scarves ; on their chests they wore a kind of stomacher
elaborately embroidered in silk. Elegant fans
dangled from their girdles.

To this description it must be superfluous to add
that they were natives of the land where the tea-tree
annually yields its fragrant harvest. To them the
banquet, with its strange menu of swallows’ nests,
sharks’ fins, and whale-sinew, had contained no
novelty, much as they had been aware of the skill and
delicacy with which everything had been served. But
if there had been nothing to surprise them in the
dishes of the enter-
taiment, it was alto-
gether the reverse
when their host in-
formed them that he
had a communication
that he wished to
make.

The cups were all
refilled, and, raising
his own towards his
lips, resting his el-
bow on the table, and
fixing his eyes on
vacancy, the host
began to speak.

“Do not laugh at
me, my friends, but
I am going to intro-
duce a new element
into my life. Whe-
ther it will be for
good or for evil, only
the future can de-
cide. This dinner,
at which you give
me the pleasure of
your company, will
be the last in which
I shall entertain you
as a bachelor. In
another fortnight I
shall be married !”

“Married and
happy ! the happiest
of men!” broke in
the voice of the one
who seemed to be
the optimist of the
party. ‘‘See,” he
added, ‘‘the omens
are all in your fa-
vour,”’ and he point-
ed out how the
lamps were shedding a clear pale light, how the
magpies were chattering cheerily on the carved
windows, and how the tealeaves were all floating
perpendicularly in the cups.

A volley of congratulations followed, but the host
received them all with the most imperturbable cool-
ness. It did not seem to occur to him that it was
necessary to give the name of the lady, and no one
ventured to intrude upon his reserve. The philosophic
gentleman alone did not join in the general chorus
of good wishes, but, sitting with his arms folded, his
eyes half closed, and an ironical smile upon his lip,
seemed as if he had some misgiving as to the pro-
priety of the compliments so freely paid.

58 THE TROUBLES OF A CHINAMAN.

The host looked at him; rising from his seat and | ‘‘that happiness may come to him through some
approaching him, he said, with a voice that betrayed | unhappiness.”’

more emotion than his previous manner indicated,— | The toast was drunk; the guests rose from their
“¢ Do you think I am too old to get married ?” seats, clenched their fists as if they were about to
“No.” | begin a boxing-match, lifted them to their fore-
“Too young, then?” | heads, bowed, and took their leave.
‘¢ No.” From the description thus given of the apartment
‘¢ Am I making a mistake?” | where the entertainment was held, of the strange
‘‘ Very probably.” menu, and of the attire and deportment of the com-
‘The lady, you know, possesses every quality to | pany, it will be at once comprehended that the Chinese

make me happy.” | here depicted were not of that conventional type which
‘“‘ Very true.” | might step out from paper screens or from old Oriental
‘‘Then where is the difficulty ?” | porcelain, but, on the other hand, were examples of
‘The difficulty is in yourself.” the modern inhabitants of the Celestial Empire, who,
‘‘ Shall I never be happy ?” by education, travel, and intercourse with Europeans,
‘Never till you have known what it is to be un-| have adopted not a few of the habits of the civilised

happy ?” West. It was, in fact, in the saloon of one of the
‘*T am out of the reach of misfortune.” | pleasure-yachts on the Pearl River at Canton that the
‘‘Then your case has no remedy.” | wealthy Kin-Fo, with his inseparable companion,

‘‘ Nonsense! all nonsense!” broke in the youngest | Wang the philosopher, had just been entertaining
man in the room; ‘it is all idle trash listening to a four of the earliest friends of his youth, Pao-shen,
theoretical machine like this philosopher! He is full | a mandarin of the fourth class, as his dark blue ball
of theories, and his theories are bosh! Get married, | denoted; Yin-Pang, arich silk merchant in Apothe-
my friend; get married as soon as youcan. Ishould | cary Street; Tim, a mere man of pleasure ; and Hooal,
get married myself, only I havea vow which forbids | a man of letters.
me. We will drink your health. Happiness and! Thus, on the twenty-seventh day of the fourth moon,
good luck be with you!” had been passed the first of the five watches into

‘‘T can only repeat my hope,” rejoined the stoic, which the Chinese romantically divide the night.

ANTS.

BY THE REY. W. F. WHITE, M.A., VICAR OF STONEHOUSE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE.
Il.

THE ANTS RIGHTLY NAMED A * LITTLE PEOPLE.”’

T° proceed to a more detailed examination of these | none exceeding eight lines, and throughout the whole
two representative species. There are now | ant world we find very few, if any, which are longer

before us a specimen of the red ant (If. scabrinodis). | than one inch.*

It is larger than the yellow (F. flava), and yet we find

it to be only about two lines, or one-sixth of an | EXAMINATION OF THE RED ANT, MYRMICA SCABRINODIS,

inch, inlength. A little people, therefore, our friends | . ITS DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS, WITH SOME

NOTICES OF OTHER SPECIES.

The head of the specimen we are examining we
find to be of an oval form, slightly heart-shaped
where it joins on to the slender throat. There is an
eye on each side of the head. The eyes being very
far apart, and where, judging from our own phy-
siognomy, we should expect to find ears; and
holding the position of our eyes, or rather nearer the
mouth, we find a pair of long-jointed horns, or
feelers, fixed into little sockets not far from each
other, each horn consisting of two parts, that nearer
the head being the shorter; the other, which is
much longer, having eleven divisions, fitting into
each other like little cups, and looking like a string
of polished beads, the last three joints being formed
intoaclub. ‘These antenne, as they are called, can
be moved in any direction at the will of their little
Fig, 1.—al, Myrmica scabrinodis (magnified). «2, Natural size. owner. They do not in any way hinder sight, since
they are placed, as we have noticed, inside the organs

the ants surely are, for it should be observed that
there are British species less than a line in length,*

* The extraordinary size of the imprisoned queen of the white ant,
which sometimes is found to measure six inches or more, does not inva-
* Myrmica fugux and Myrmica domestica. lidate this statement, since it is an abnormal development.

of v
is u

limk
whi
not
forn
racti
fron
and

Lat
anc
onl
My
of |

~ her

Th
nes
bor

yee

ome

heir
t to
ore-

nent
nge
om-
nese
hich
ntal
ss of
who,
ans,
lised
' the
t the
nion,
ining
shen,
. ball
othe-
ooal,

noon,
into

whole
longer

[NODIS,
SOME

ing we
shaped
Dis an
g very
a phy-
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ANTS. oi

of vision. The shorter part of the antenna, which
is undivided, is called the scape, while the divided

Fig. 2:—b1, Formica flora. 62, Natural size.

limb is called the flagellum. In the UW. scabrinodis
which we are examining, the scape of the antenna is
not attenuated at its base, but abruptly elbowed, and
forming an acute angular lobe. It is a marked cha-
racteristic of this species, and clearly distinguishes it
from the two allied species, the Myrmica ruginodis
and Myrmica levinodis. The rare ant Myrmecina

. Mandibles.
. Prothorax.

aor wn

. Mesothorax.

a

@ =

. Abdomen.
9. Coxa.
10. Trochanter.

Fig. 3.—M. Scabrinodis with open mandibles.

Latreillii has also an elbowed scape, but it is smaller, |
and of a black colour, with the antenne and legs
only reddish. There is another very rare species of
Myrmica similar to the three before mentioned, but
of a darker colour, and can be readily distinguished

hence has received the specific name of Lobicornis.
This I have been happy in finding on Shirley Common,
near Croydon, and also on Brendon Common, on the
borders of Exmoor, the haunts of the red deer. Last
year I discovered in the last-named interesting locality
an independent colony under a stone!

. Flagellum of antenne.,
. Scape of antenne, with acute angular lobe.

3. Metathorax with spines.
. Nodes of the petiole.

11. Fema (thigh).
12. Tibia (shanks).
ry" \ 13. Tarsus (five-jointed foot with two claws)

CONSTRUCTION OF EYES AS VIEWED UNDER A
MICROSCOPE.

If we examine the eyes above referred to under a
microscope, we find that the cornea, or outer surface,
is formed of a fine network of lenses similar in
arrangement to the hexagonal cells of the honeycomb.
The eyes are immoveable, hence the number of

Fig. 4.—Portion of Eye of Ant (compound cornea) highly magnified.

lenses answering to as many eyes, to enable the little
people to see in as many directions. And not only
cannot they, as we, turn their eyes hither and
thither, but they do not possess the power we enjoy of
altering the form of the lens so as to adapt the sight
to meet the object of vision; the cornea and optic
nerve being always at the same distance, they are
unable, therefore, to seo near objects; hence, I
believe with others, one of the reasons why they are
furnished with the sensitive and delicate antenne,
is that they may, like a blind man with a stick, feel
where they are unable to see.

THE MOUTH, WITH ITS ALLIED APPENDAGES, AND
THEIR USES.

The little creature has now its mouth wide open,
and what a strange apparatus! ‘There is a small
fleshy tongue, an under-lip, called the Jabivim, fur-
nished with a pair of jointed, sensitive feelers, or
palpi, or antennule, by which, it may be, it is

ac,

\ Haunrch.

Antenna of M. Scabrinodis magnified.

enabled to taste its food before it passes down its
throat, and are known generally as labial palpi.
There is another pair of feelers attached to the mem-
branous lower jaws, or maxille, longer than the
former, by which, possibly, it can, as with fingers,
help to satisfy its own hunger and that of its infant
progeny. These are designated mazillary palpi.
What are those strange-looking implements on each
side of its mouth, very like the horns of the stag-
beetle in miniature? These implements are most
serviceable to the little people. Fancy yourselves,
my readers, if you can, without teeth, jaws, and arms,

60 ANTS.

would you not feel very uncomfortable and help-
less? So would the little people feel were they
deprived of their mandibles, as they are called.
Though they are placed outside instead of inside
the mouth, they serve them as jaws, furnished
as they are in most cases with sharp and strong
teeth. They answer also the purpose of arms,
enabling their possessors to carry their food itto
their storehouses and nurseries and their young from
one chamber to another, their enfeebled companions,
when, in an emergency, it is necessary to change
their position with all expedition, and their dead
when it becomes their duty to remove them from
their home to the cemetery. These wonderful im-
plements they use, too, as saws, by which they pre-
pare the material, gathered, too, through their kindly
aid, wherewith to build their habitations, or by which
they channel out the earth or wood to construct the
chambers and corridors of their dwelling.

THORAX, LEGS, AND NODES.

The ant, we see, is divided into three parts—the
head, the thorax, and the abdomen. The head and
thorax in this species are rough and striated. The
thorax is subdivided into prothorar, mesothorax, and
metathorax, this last carrying two long and acute
spines. In Ruginodis the spines are also long. In
Levinodis they are short, and the sculpture of the
thorax and head is more delicate than in the two
former allied species. Attached to the three divisions
of the thorax are three pairs of legs, each with
haunch, thigh, shank, and five-jointed foot, which
is armed with two toe-claws, which create a tickling
sensation when the little creatures course over the
human skin. The abdomen is ovate in form, smooth,
and shiny, and composed of several rings. We notice,
further, a very thin waist between the thorax and
abdomen called the petiole, elegant in form, furnished
with two ornamental globular enlargements called
nodes, the character of which forms a useful guide in
the differentiation of species, the JL. scabrinodis having
the nodes rugose striated, the M. ruginodis, rugose, and
the If. levinodis comparatively smooth and shining.

FORMIC ACID.

Besides the necessary organs for preserving all the
functions of the body in healthy exercise we find the
little creatures provided with a bag of irritant spiri-
tuous liquor, which at pleasure it can eject, to the
great annoyance of intruders on its privacy. This
spirit, elaborated in the secret distillery of the little
people, is called their formic acid. Its subtle presence
may readily be detected by its peculiar though
agreeable perfume. If the head be held over a nest
of Formica rufa which has been disturbed, it will be
immediately appreciated, though it will be found
exceedingly difficult to maintain the same position
long with any comfort, so powerful is the emanation.
The heaped-up nests of this prolific ant are not uncom-
mon in woods and their neighbourhood. They may
frequently be met with not many miles from Stone-
house. I have found them also at Lynmouth, Por-
lock, Weybridge, Abbey Wood, Shirley, etc. The nests
of the two allied but scarcer species, which you may find
on the heaths and in the pine woods of Bournemouth,
will, when disturbed, yield the same strong though

fragrant essence, viz., the Formica congerens and
Formica exsecta. The former raises nests as extensive
as the rufa. The latter, which I have found also at
Ringwood, on the borders of the New Forest, js
content with a much smaller domicile, which may at
once distinguish the nest of this species from that of
its neighbour. When at Bournemouth, in 1876, I
was examining a large nest of Formica congerens. I
put one of the colony into my mouth, and found it to
have a very acid taste, and was not unpleasantly im-
pressed with the peculiarity of the flavour of the little
people, but exceeding wise.

ITS USES IN MEDICINE AND PHOTOGRAPHY.

This formic acid has been utilised for the pur.
pose of alleviating human pain in the preparation
of chloroform, as the name would tell us, and it
has been also rendered available with a view of
forwarding the progress of science, of promoting
the advance of education, and fostering our most
cherished natural affections and hallowed local
associations while assisting the photographer to
render lasting the beautiful and faithful delineations
of the sunbeams. The formic acid is sometimes most
annoying to the human family ; as was the experience
of a modern Qulliver while on his journey through
Norway with a knapsack. Being overtaken by the
shades of night, and wearied with his day’s exertions,
he strived to find repose within the precincts of a
hay-barn. He tried to sleep, and thus refresh him-
self for the morrow’s labour. In vain his effort!
‘Sleep, gentle sleep; Nature’s soft nurse,” affrighted,
‘refused to weigh his eyelids down and steep his
senses in forgetfulness.’ The little people, among
other tribes of animated creatures, made his body
the object of their attention, which their enterprising
disposition led them to explore, by crawling under
his clothes and all about his skin. He adds: “If I
had ever doubted the theory of their irritant acid
perspiration, this night’s experience must have con-
verted me.” It tormented him, it seems, more
cruelly than the Liliputian arrows did the hands and
face of Lemuel Gulliver; and did we understand the
silent language of the little people who marched and
countermarched upon the body of the northern
traveller, which to them would seem as an island,
a solid vantage-ground in the midst of a laby-
rinth of dry vegetation, we should, I doubt not,
learn that their fearful wonder, when they saw
and felt the unknown island heave convulsively
beneath their active little feet, was quite as great
as that of the inhabitants of Liliput when they saw
and felt the man-mountain struggle to undo their
midnight work which kept him prisoner. The acid
perspiration, instead of being annoying, is sometimes
most beneficial to the lords of the creation, for in
some cases of sickness its irritant properties act as a
restorative. I have been told by a friend of a well-
authenticated instance. A missionary in the tropics
was interrupted in his dauntless labours for his
Master by a dangerous illness, which prostrated him,
and showed its virulence by afflicting him with count-
less boils. He was lying helpless and alone in his
hammock, when, behold, to his unspeakable horror,
myriads of ants of ferocious aspect approached him,
as he thought and feared, with deadly intent. They
came nearer and nearer, surrounded him, and swarmed
all over his body; but instead of keeping him down,

as the inhabitants of Liliput did Lemuel Gulliver,

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ANTS. 61

fhey enabled him to rise, for after anointing the
prostrate sufferer with a profuse supply of their
irritant acid, which proved to be a remedy suited to
his peculiar malady, they left him speedily to recover
and resume his happy work with gratitude to his
God who had used this little people as His effectual
preservers.

THE STING—A WEAPON OF OFFENCE AND DEFENCE.

But to return. The species of ant we are ex-
amining is armed with a sting of the same con-
struction as that of a bee, with which it opens an
orifice in its victim’s flesh, and into the gaping wound
injects a venom, decocted in its internal laboratory,
which gives a sharp pain similar to that caused by a
stinging-nettle, as 1 had occasion to notice when
opening a nest of the allied species, Jf. levinodis,
at Bournemouth.

“In other ants,’? says Gould, who discoursed
about the little people which came under his observa-
tion in the last century, ‘‘I cannot discover any
sting, and, therefore, unless you allow them time
they are not so venemous. They are obliged, first of
all, to bite’or make a small incision with their saws,
and then eject some of their corroding liquor in the
wound, which has the like effect as the above.
The.red ants live more open and exposed to view,
travel at greater distance from their cells, are more
bold than any of the others, therefore a weapon of
this kind is serviceable to them.”

These observations are just when the habit of the
red ants are contrasted with that of the yellow, but
the force of Gould’s remarks is sensibly diminished
when the long distances traversed by the common
wood ant in its foraging expeditions is considered,
for this ant is stingless, and also when the
military advances of the stingless F. sanguinea into
hostile territory is taken cognizance of, but the
diligent observer who only describes the man-
ners and customs of five kinds of British ants
was evidently not aware of the existence of this
interesting species on British soil. Gould speaks as
if there was but one species of red ant, and that the
only ant possessing a sting in this country. In the most
recent official list of British ants, compiled by the late
Mr. F. Smith, and published in 1871, by the En-
tomological Society, there are sixteen species
recorded which possess stings, including two of the
family of Poneride, and sixteen of the family J/yr-
micide@.

MY DISCOVERY OF THE HOUSE-ANT OF MADEIRA IN
THE BOROUGH.

This is not reckoning Myrmica or Pheidole levigata,
the house-ant of Madeira. This species, I think,
should be added to the list, since whereas when
the British Museum Catalogue of British Ants
was issued in 1858, the species had only been dis-
covered in a hothouse at Exeter, a solitary example
on a wall at Battersea, and three specimens on a
garden wall at Hampstead by Mr. Smith. In the year
1861 I was happy enough to find it domesticated in
large numbers in a baker’s shop in the Borough, and
one of Mr. Smith’s sons has met with it since in an
eating-house in the City. I found the ants in the
baker’s shop running over and devouring buns and
cakes. The young person serving in the shop at
first denied their existence, and refused me leave

to search her goods, but having seen a few of the
little people upon the pavement in front of the house,
I was persistent in pressing my inquiry, and at last
softening her heart by purchasing some buns, she
relented, and opening a drawer and lifting up some
sponge-cakes, she said, ‘‘ There they are, and I will
give you as many as you please.” I am afraid I
looked more delighted than the, to her, distressing
circumstances warranted. In 1877, just sixteen
years afterwards, I visited this same shop, and found
the unwelcome intruders still in great force, and as
active as ever in their depredations, so that we may
fairly consider this Madeira species to be now
thoroughly established and naturalised in this
country. It is reddish-brown in colour, and less
than one-sixth of an inch in length.

MYRMICA DOMESTICA: ITS DISTRIBUTION, ITS VALOUR,
ITS ILABITS, ITS TASTES.

There is another species of stinging ants of a
reddish-yellow colour, and less than a line in
length, in truth a very little people—JDfyrmica
domestica—which has established itself in London,
in St. Leonards-on-Sea, and at Kemptown, Brighton.
In the last-named place, as also in the metropolis,
it has proved so annoying as to render houses
uninhabitable, and the valiant little race have
driven the lords of the creation from their castles.
I know one in London who was obliged to leave
his house in consequence of the intrusive and
protracted visit of the little people. It gets into
food, being especially fond of sugar and sweet
almonds, and it will even attack meat; anything
greasy meets its fancy. In the winter-time it natu-
rally prefers the kitchen, and in the warmer weather
it becomes an unwelcome visitant in the parlour.
Wherever I go it seems to force itself on my notice,
and I have obtained the unenviable reputation . of
introducing it where it is least desired. I fear that
my association with this little amber witch would
have gone hard with me had [I lived in the good old
days when traffickers in the dark art were liable to
prosecution. Did I go into a baker’s shop in the
Kennington Road, I was met almost on the threshold
by a royal procession. The queen, who may readily
be recognised, since she is about five times as large
and between two and three times as long as the other
members of the community, was marching solemnly
up a whitewashed wall, attended by a large retinue
of her loyal and devoted subjects. Did I sit down
with the worthies of St. Dunstan’s-in-the-West at a
public dinner-table in an hotel in Fleet Street, one
of this inquisitive and intrusive little people walked
leisurely towards my soup-plate to pay me its respects.
Did I look in upon my late landlord near Temple
Bar to see how he fared, this same little people I
learnt had established an extensive colony in my late
abode, and wereasserting their presence in a most
persistent manner. I disarmed my friend by at once
throwing myself on his clemency and entreating him
not to prosecute me for the permanent annoyance I
had unwittingly occasioned. DidI pay a visit at the
house of some friends at the West End, and was
refreshment hospitably offered me, upon the bun

I took to eat I discovered one of this same tribe of
_ tiny Emmets. And when I stayed with my relatives
| a few years back at Stanhope Place, Hyde Park, I
' found that since my last appearance a strong body of
| this same prolific and molesting race had forced them-

2 ANTS.

selves into the kitchen, defying every effort to dis-
lodge them ; and about three years back, did I spend
the evening at the house of a college friend at St.
Leonards-on-Sea, on the dinner-table one of these
same little people forced itself on my attention, and
assured me that my kind host was not a stranger to
their presence and enterprising spirit.

A ROYAL FEAST.

When passing through London in the month of
September the same year, I sent word of an intended
call at Stanhope Place, requesting that a dainty
repast should be got ready for the little people;
yea, a right royal feast, in order that the queen
might be allured from her secret chamber to give
me an audience. I called at the appointed time,
and I learnt that the banquet had been prepared ;
a table had been spread and a variety of food laid
out to tempt the royal appetite—sponge-cakes and
dripping! A few choice spirits only were feasting
upon the cake, but on the dripping, in the dripping-
pan, and around it, the sight was something mar-
vellous; thousands upon thousands of the loyal race
were there, and not one, nor two, nor three, but
nineteen queens, if not more, were present, and each
attended by a faithful and devoted band of myr-
midons. A sight such as this is a joy for ever! I
made an instant raid and captured all the queens I
could, with many of their subjects too, and the
trophies of my victory may be seen in my cabinet.

THE ‘‘ LITTLE PEOPLE’’ OMNIVOROUS.

The following further information concerning the
tastes and habits of this same liliputian race may
be interesting, especially to those living in the
metropolis, where so many houses are enlivened by
their presence. I find that at Stanhope Place their
favourite food is fish, especially whiting and haddock.
If the dish of fish be placed only for a few minutes
by the fire, it is completely covered with the ants.
Sponge-cakes I have already referred to as attractive
to them. I may add that the baker in the Kennington
Road found it so to his cost; and I kept, when living
in Fleet Street, a large number of the little crea-
tures in a sponge-cake for the sake of observation,
where they were ‘‘as merry as you please.” I
surrounded the tasteful castle with a trench of
water. Many of the little people floated on the
surface of the water, and others, I fear, made a
bridge of boats of the bedies of their floating com-
panions, judging from the appalling experience of
my landlord before narrated. The Rev. J. G. Bichard,
late Civil Chaplain at Seychelles, told me the other
day that he had seen the ants in this island cross the
water in which the feet of the sideboard were placed,
over the bodies of their floating companions, and so
reached the food, which it was the object of the
encircling trench to guard from their encroach-
ments. The dormouse at Stanhope Place was
fed upon sponge-cake, and in consequence it
became necessary to suspend its cage from the
ceiling, for whenever it was placed in the kitchen
the ants found their way to it and devoured
the cake. Fat of all kinds attracts them, as the
incident of the dripping-pan will clearly demonstrate ;
also dead beetles. That they exercise thus the
important duty of scavengers establishes for them

a claim upon our favourable consideration. Almonds,
I have noticed, they are especially fond of. To
illustrate this I will mention that at 14, Bryanston
Square, a dish of almonds was shelled but not peeled
for dessert. "When it was brought to table the skins
were found to be perfectly hollow, having been
cleaned out by the depredators. Having had my
attention called to the roads the ants at 2, Stanhope
Place, had made over the passage-wall leading from
the kitchen, faint lines, where their active little feet
had travelled, being clearly seen up the wall to the
corner of the ceiling beneath the cupboard in an
upper anteroom, I made special inquiry as to the
cause of the journey of the ants in the direction indi-
cated, and I learnt that it was the almonds in the
said cupboard that chiefly attracted them. The store
is always discovered by them within a day or two.
The ants are laden with provisions when they return
from their foraging expedition, evidently, unselfish
creatures, to satisfy the wants of the members of the
community at home. On this wall a queen has often
been observed, attended by a strong body-guard of
her loyal subjects.

TIIE MADEIRA ANT IN A CITY RECTORY.

There is yet another species of ant which has
established itself in London, and may be found
always at home in my brother’s Rectory in the City.
It is a native of Madeira. Its name is Tapinoma
gracilescens, and does not occur in any published list
of British ants. I find it mentioned in the official
General Catalogue of Ants in the British Museum,
and the Botanical Gardens, Kew, is given as a
habitat. The presence of this ant in the heart of the
great city is a most interesting fact. It is many
years ago since I first observed this ant in my
brother’s house. I noticed it in large numbers in
the Rectory kitchen in 1876, and as recently as last
Christmas.
subjects by post from one of my nephews, this
being the first time I had set my delighted eyes
upon her majesty. It is chiefly in the summer-
time that they visit the dining-room, in the
sugar. They are always seen downstairs, except
in extremely cold weather. Their being noticed in
the dining-room at Christmas-tide, and that an
exceptionally cold season, was a most unusual cir-
cumstance. The queen immediately attracted atten-
tion by her great size. She was in the sugar-basin,
and surrounded by a number of her devoted atten-
dants. The latter are very small, of a black colour,
with very long thin legs and antennw. They run
very rapidly, and are very difficult to capture, except
when satisfying their hunger. I have often caught
them by spreading sugar in their pathways and
customary haunts. Though they are particularly
fond of sugar they will eat anything sweet. They
feast also on shrimps’ heads, when placed near the
entrance of their burrows, and they are often seen
carrying off dead flies and beetles. I have frequently
noticed them bearing along dead flies as well as
sugar for the good folk at home. Mr. Smith has
informed me that they are to be seen in the
Crystal Palace, Sydenham, and C. H. Dale, Esq., of
Glanvilles Wootton, Dorset, has given me to under-
stand that they have been met with at St. Leonards-on-
Sea, so that I think it is a species which, though pos-
sibly imported, like the Pheidole levigata, the other
native of Madeira, may now be registered as British

I received the queen and one of her ©

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VARTETIES. 63

DR. ADAM, OF THE HIGH SCHOOL,
EDINBURGH.

E have received from Mr. Daniel Dickson’

Master of the Merchant Company, Edinburgh,

the following report to the Edinburgh School Board,

as to Mss. and printed papers of Dr. Alexander Adam,
formerly rector of the High School :—

These were presented to the Town Council for the benefit of
the High School by the rector’s son, Dr. Walter Adam, on 31st
July, 1840.

The documents consist chiefly of the ss. of the original
editions and corrected proofs of later editions of Dr. Adam’s
grammar, geography, Roman antiquities, and classical geo-
graphy. As these books, though much approved at one time,
have now been superseded by others, the Mss. referred to are
not now of much value or interest. There are in some of the
parcels interesting letters respecting them from classical scholars
of the’period, such as Lempriére, Valpy, Mavor, Vincent, Doig,
Dymock, and otkers.

The other papers may be classed as follows :—

1. Letters and papers respecting the Schoolmasters’ Widows’
Fund, of which Dr. Adam was one of the founders.

2. Laws and lists of members, and minutes of the New-
tonian Society, founded in 1760 by Dr. Adam, then a student.
This society, we learn from Smellie’s ‘‘ Memoirs,” developed ere
long into the Philosophical Society, from which sprang the
Royal Society of Edinburgh. Among the members were the
following students afterwards distinguished :—Samuel Charteris,
of Wilton ; Henry Hunter, of London Wall, an eminent theo-
logian, and friend of Lavater ; William Smellie, the printer and
naturalist.

8. Theses and other interesting pamphlets. There are the
printed theses for the Faculty of Advocates of the following,
among other, distinguished pupils of the High School, viz.,
Walter Scott, 1792; Henry Peter Brougham, 1900; Francis
Jeflrey, 1794 ; George Ross, 1797 ; Charles Hope, 1784.

4, Manuscript Lectures on Composition by Professor Leech-
-, Glasgow, 1755, which are not known to have been pub-
ished.

5. Note-books containing the names of boys attending the
various classes in the High School from 1768 to 1807, and
small amounts paid, probably for the library and for coals.
These appear to have been examined by Dr. Steven when pre-
paring his history of the High School, or for a new edition of
it which he had in contemplation. Curiously enough, the boys
are arranged alphabetically—not by their last, but by their
first names. Another peculiarity is apparent, and which I have
found existing in the books of the school as late as 1820,
namely, that boys of the higher social position in the school,
among others several peers and peers’ sons, are entered as pay-
ing the double of the ordinary fee or charge.

6. Dr. Adam was evidently a believer in corporal punish-
ment, though contemporaries say that he was milder in punish-
ing than some of the other teachers, such as Luke Fraser and
William Nicol, of ‘‘ peck o’ maut” celebrity. There are three
pairs of taws carefully preserved, which may be described as of
primary, secondary, and tertiary formation. The descriptions
given of the High School boys of the period by Sir Walter
Scott, Lord Cockburn, and others, in their interesting remi-
niscences, lead one to believe that such educational helps were
neither needless nor useless,

7. Dr. Adam’s diploma, dated 9th August, 1780, signed by
Principal Robertson, and Professors Munro, Black, Cullen,
Gregory, Blair, Dugald Stewart, and other eminent professors
of the time.

8. I have found some curious and interesting notes and letters
from parents of boys, these having been afterwards used for

— memoranda by the rector. The fcllowing is an ex-
ample :—

“Mr. Brougham’s best compliments to Dr. Adam, and
requests the favour of him to excuse Henry’s absence yesterday,
as he was not well.” :

“Mr. Brougham’s compliments to Dr. Adam, and shall be
glad of his company to-morrow to partake of a Cumberland
g00se at four o’clock. If Wednesday should be more conve-
hient, as Mrs. Brougham says the goose will keep another day,
Mr. B. begs Dr. Adam will say so.” °

9. School exercises by Charles Hope, Walter Scott, Francis
Jeffrey, Henry Cockburn, Vandeleur, Robert Dundas Lord
Melville, Lord Strathmore, Lord Lauder, and others, afterwards
distinguished.

Dr. Adam was elected head master of George Watson’s Hos-
pital in 1760, when he was only nineteen or twenty years of
age. He had charge of the rector’s class in the High School in
1765, and was appointed rector in 1768. There are several
papers connected with George Watson’s Hospital, such as,
among others, specimens of writing by William Fettes, founder
of Fettes College, and of John Horner, father of Francis and
Leonard Horner. Fettes and Horner were admitted to Watson's
Hospital on 8rd April, 1760. Some of these exercises might be
presented to the governors of Fettes and Watson’s institutions,
who would no doubt value them.

I have been kindly assisted in my examination of the papers
by Mr. Robert Adam, City Chamberlain of Edinburgh, grand-
nephew of the illustrious rector.

Davip Dickson.

[This document has an interest far beyond any
personal or local associations. Dr. Adam’s name is
yet remembered with honour, and his works cannot
be said to be wholly superseded, for we often consult
them with advantage, especially his ‘‘ Roman Anti-
quities.” The names that occur in this report include
not a few that are ‘‘on fame’s eternal bede-roll.”
We are much obliged to Mr. Dickson for his com-
munication.—Eb. ‘‘ L. H.’’]

Paricties.

MEETING OF THE STars.—We recently gave some account
(p. 14) of the conjunction of the planets in 1880. Some sen-
sational paragraphs, having an American source, have also been
freely circulated relating to an alleged conjunction, in 1880 or
the following year, of the perihelia, or least distances from the
sun, of the four major planets, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and
Neptune. The absurdity of the notion that the relative posi-
tions of planets so widely separated in the solar system could
have any sensible effect on the earth’s atmosphere is so evident
that the subject itself is beneath the notice of the astronomer ; but
for the information of those who have taken some interest in the
matter, we may state that these four planets will not be at their
least distances from the sun in any special year, and, conse-
quently, all speculations founded upon this assumption falls
immediately to the ground. The facts are these: Jupiter will
be at its least distance from the sun, or, in astronomical lan-
guage, in perihelia, in September, 1880 ; Saturn in September,
1885 ; Uranusin April, 1882 ; while in the case of Neptune, the
perturbations of Jupiter disturb the elliptic orbit so much that
there are two points of nearest approach to the sun some ten
years apart, the first of which took place about 1876-7, while
the second is expected to occur about 1887-8.

Errctric Licntine AT THE British MusEvum.—Since the
latter part of October, 1879, the electric light has been con-
tinuously used in the national reading-room in the evening until
seven o'clock, and an average of more than two hundred students
and literary men have been nightly able to proceed with their
researches to that hour, instead of leaving off, as formerly,
when the shades of evening fell. On several occasions the new
lighting has been tested during the day-night of a regular Lon-
don fog. The first time was on a Saturday morning in No-
vember, the 22nd, if we remember. For more than a century
readers at the British Museum have been compelled to suspend
work on the occasion of a fog, and to leave the reading-room ;
but on Saturday morning, shortly after 10 o’clock, when many
readers, unmindful of the improvements of the age, were about
to quit with their papers, the electric light was turned on, and,
without any apparent preparations, the spacious room was sud-
denly illumined as by a magic ray of sunshine, to the great
satisfaction of all present. There was a murmur of applause.
For with the new carbon which Messrs. Siemens have manufac-
tured at their Berlin works and with the gilt reflectors suggested
by Mr. Bond, the principal librarian, the light is about as
good a substitute for sunlight as can yet be desired. The pro-
posals for lighting up the reading-room by this system were
originally submitted by Mr. J. J. Calder and Mr. J. A. Barrett,
and the arrangements were finally carried out under the super-

64

intendence of Mr. Barrett, who is the electrician for the Museum.
Eleven lights in all have been fitted up, and of these four are
placed in the reading-room, four in other parts of the building,
and three outside it. The four in the reading-room are placed,
one in the centre and three equidistantly around it. They are
supplied with continuous currents, each from its own Siemens
dynamo-electric machine. Of the lights in other parts of the
Museum, two are placed in the entrance-hall, one in the read-
ing-room corridor, and one in the Greek gallery. In the court-
yard in front of the building are two more lights, while another
is placed in the rear, near to the engine and machine-house.
These seven lights are supplied from one Siemens maghine,
producing an alternating or divided evrrent. It will thus be
seen that two different systems of electric lighting are employed,
both, however, being on the Siemens principle—the four lights
in the reading-room being produced by continuous currents, and
calculated to be each equal to 4,000 candles, the seven other
lights, which are estimated at 400 candles each, being produced
by an alternating current, and being connected in one circuit
heat 1,200 yards in length.

STEREOTYPE MeErTAt.—Many of our printers now do their
own stereotyping. For the benefit of such we publish the
following with regard to preparing of metal for that purpose :—
For every 6 lb..of lead add 11b. of antimony. The antimony
should be broken into very small pieces, and thrown on the top
of the lead when it is at red heat. It is a white metal, and so
brittle that it may be reduced to powder ; it melts when heated
to redness ; at a higher heat it evaporates. The cheapest and
most simple mode of making a stereotype metal is to melt old
type, and to every 14 lbs. add about 6 lbs. of grocers’ tea-chest
lead. ‘To prevent any smoke arising from the melting of tea-
chest lead, it is necessary to melt it over an ordinary fire-place,
for the purpose of cleansing it, which can be done by throwing
in a small piece of tallow about the size of a nut, and stirring
briskly with the ladle, when the impurities will rise to the sur-
face, and can be skimmed off. _ In the mixing of lead and type
metal, see that there are no pieces of zinc with it, the least
portion of which will spoil the whole of the other metal that is
mixed with it. Zine is of a bluish-white colour ; its hue is
intermediate between that of lead and tin. It takes about 80
degrees more heat than lead to bring it into fusion ; therefore,
should any metal float on the top of the lead, do not try to mix
it, but immediately take it off with the ladle.—Printer and
Stationer.

ANOTHER CENTENARIAN.—A correspondent, referring to our
recent notice of Canon Beadon, calls attention to another cen-
tenarian who also died last year. The Reverend William
Tranter was born at Little Dawley, near Madeley, Shropshire,
on May Ist, 1778, entered the Wesleyan ministry in 1803, and
died at Salisbury on February 9th, 1879, in the one hundred
and first year of his age. When a young man he was
acquainted with Mrs. Fletcher, wife of the saintly Vicar of
Madeley, Lady Maxwell, and other eminent Christians whose
friendship and counsels he highly valued. He attended a
meeting of ministers two years before his death, and although
feeble (having entered on his hundredth year), he with much
feeling addressed a few words to his brethren. He ‘‘ grew old
gracefully.” A brief record appears in the minutes of the
Wesleyan Conference,

TRUSTEES IN BANKRuUpTCY.—Under the Bankruptcy Act
creditors elect, by a majority of votes, a trustee to manage the

bankrupt estate. The law not being willing to leave trustees in
bankruptcy entirely to their own devices, it invests the Comp-
troller in Bankruptcy with certain powers, or apparent powers,
of censure, which it was hoped might be of some effect. It is
his duty to report to the Court any misconduct in the exercise
of a trustee’s functions which may come under his notice. Since
the Bankruptcy Act of 1869 came into operation a very large
number of trustees have been reported against. What is more
wonderful and less satisfactory, a large proportion of trustees
have been reported against more than once. In 1874 twenty-
nine reports were made against one trustee, and twenty-five
against another; but these magnificent figures were not again
approached till the present year, when one trustee has been
reported against twenty-six times. In 1878, 311 trustees were
reported against to the Comptroller in Bankruptcy for mis-
conduct in their functions, of whom 128 were accountants, 22
were auctioneers, and 20 solicitors. Most of the persons who
have been reported against again and again are accountants.
Indeed, it is evident that this convenient title may often be
exchanged for that of defaulting trustee. An accountant seems
the right sort of man to undertake the winding-up of a bank-

VARIETIES.

rupt’s affairs ; and the recognition of this fact seems to prevent
the creditors from seeing that he may also be the right sort of
man to keep that winding-up going as long as he possibly can
and to make as much as he possibly can out of it. In theory,
the creditors appoint one of their own number to represent
them, and it is supposed, very reasonably, that their represen-
tative will be sure to know what they want, and to take good
care that they get it. In practice, the creditors very often
appoint an outsider to be their representative—this outsider not
being an official paid by salary and having no motive to keep
his work long on hand, but a professional trustee, paid by fees
drawn from the estate, and having every inducement to prolong
the process of winding-up.—Saturday Review.

Tue Russtan Arnms.—Lieutenant Greene, of U.S. Engineers,
and lately Military Attaché at St. Petersburg, has published
the best report of the Russo-Turkish war of 1877-8, most of the
great events of which he witnessed. Of the Russian army he
says :—The present organisation is founded on an Imperial
ukase dated January 1, 1874, and its fundamental principle is
universal military service, without exemption by purchase or
by providing substitutes. The duration of service is fixed at
fifteen years, of which six must be spent with the colours and
nine with the reserve. There are, asin other European countries,
certain exceptions made, in the persons of the only sons of
widowed mothers, of men suffering from bodily defects, and of
students about to embrace the priesthood, while in the case of
others who have attained a certain proficiency in their academic
studies a reduction in the period of obligatory service is made.
The army is divided into three classes—the Active Army, the
Reserve, and the Cossacks ; the first being again subdivided into
local and field troops. These latter, on a war footing, consist of
667 battalions of infantry, 320 squadrons of cavalry, with 2,514
guns—or, in round numbers, 21,000 officers and 814,000 men.
In addition to this vast host there are no less than 136,500 men
employed in the defence of various fortresses in Europe and
Asia, and 37,000 frontier troops in the Caucasus and Turkestan.
According to the original scheme under which the Russian army
is organised, the reserve soldiers in time of war would not
merely fill up the regiments to their war strength, but would in
addition form 199 battalions of infantry, 48 batteries of artillery,
and 56 squadrons of cavalry—an army of itself, composed, too,
be it observed, of men who have passed six years with the
colours. Of the working of this scheme Lieutenant Greene
says: ‘‘ The practical results of this system were most excellent.
Regiments were now and then almost annihilated in the bloody
battles around Plevna, but a month or six weeks afterwards
they were again at their full strength; and there was always
the leaven of old soldiers.” The organised Cossacks, who
number 152,500 men, with 160 guns, are not included in the
above summary ; in fact, if Lieutenant Greene’s figures are to
be trusted, and of that we have no reasonable doubt, the
strength of the Russian army on a war footing reaches the
gigantic total of 2,029,500 men !

Srncinc AND ConsumpTION.—The Lancet has given a very
important caution as to the incautious exercise of the lungs in
singing or other unusual vocal strain. A Russian physician had
stated that not a single public singer has died of consumption
during twenty-five years at St. Petersburg, though phthisis is a
sadly frequent cause of death, the highest indeed in the bills of
mortality. Dr. Vasilieff therefore advises singing to con-
sumptive patients. But the Lancet judiciously remarks that
‘*There would seem to be room for question as to the relation of
cause and effect. It may either happen that singers are not
consumptive because they can use their chests and throats
freely, or that consumptive persons are not singers because the
weakness which precedes disease incapacitates the chest and
throat for exertion. Both of these hypotheses are true up to a
certain point, but neither holds good in all cases. A very little
observation will suffice to show that a good singing voice may
coexist with a weak or diseased chest, whereas the perfectly
healthy may be unable to sing. It was some forty years ago a
common practice to give consumptive patients a specially ar-
ranged tube to breathe through with the view of exercising ‘he
chest. We venture to hope the experiment will not be re-
peated. Chest-development can only be accomplished in a
manner consistent with health during the growing-stage of
childhood, and the most natural and convenient methods of
exercise are the best. Later on in life great mischief may be
done by unduly straining the muscles of the thorax and those
of the throat, besides the peril of injuring the smaller tubes
and air vesicles of the lung by violent exertion, for which the
organs of respiration and voice are not adapted because the
have not been early trained.”